


The Invitation That Taught Me To Dance

by CoffeesForFuckers



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Confused!Nick, Kissing, M/M, Mostly Fluff, kinda angsty, nervous!Gatsby, they cute, they kiss, they're in love, this is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeesForFuckers/pseuds/CoffeesForFuckers
Summary: Gatsby sends his dear friend of nearly two years a confusing letter to tea and lunch at twelve.





	The Invitation That Taught Me To Dance

There’s a knock on my door at dawn. By dawn, I don’t mean the kind where the  world is mostly alive once more, bathed in light, also known as, my kind of dawn. I sadly mean the kind where even the sun is still not even fully awake in the sky. I answer to Gatsby’s butler, I think his name is Alfred or Henry. I know they both were servants of Gatsby’s.

“Hello?” I croak, leaning against the door frame, rubbing my eyes.

“Mr. Gatsby sent me to give this to you.” He hands me a fancy looking, red envelope with fancy golden letters spelling out ‘Carraway’ on the back.

“Okay…” I yawn. “Thank you.” I get a nod from him and he turns, heading back to Gatsby’s.

I fall asleep quickly after he leaves, forgetting to open it until I awoke at around ten. It was under my stomach as I’d tossed and turned fitfully throughout another one of my dreams of Gatsby. All of them were about him since the day he reunited with Daisy. They used to be either him and I just doing something pointless, talking about nothingness, or about him being with Daisy and my heart being torn out, or about him and I instead of him and Daisy.

Now, they were mostly the first and third of those options but, with the ones of the day he got shot. Horrible, horrible nightmares. He was hit in the abdomen and just about drowned, no thanks to his butler, he lived. I dove in after him and pulled him from the pool. Since that day, nearly two years ago, I’ve woken from night terrors all about Gatsby not making it.

Daisy and Tom had returned by now and it was found that it was all Tom’s fault that Gatsby was shot. He wouldn’t just own up to his selfish affair with Myrtle. I despised them for that. Gatsby, though, still saw Daisy as this larger-than-life figure. That’s what I think, though. He has her over often and I’ve tried to drift from them all. I tried too, to stay close to Jordan, but, I don’t love her and she’s petty and fake, just like the rest.

Daisy, my own cousin, has betrayed both myself and the man that I deeply care for. What I truly wish to know is, would Gatsby have become so close to me if it wasn’t for Daisy being my cousin?

I roll onto my back and pluck the paper, now stuck to my sweaty skin, from my stomach and the fancy writing was now slightly smudged. I tear the top of the paper open with a pocket knife near my bed, pulling the page out and it was nice, from a stationary I’d seen on his desk hundreds of times over the years.

Why didn’t he just come and give me this himself? Or just tell me?

What a weird man.

_ Dearest Nick, _

_ Or should it be 'Dearest Carraway’? Or was it 'Dearest Mr. Carraway’? _

_ Please excuse my poor letter writing skills, old sport. I’m not used to writing letters to friends as I only truly write letters as correspondence between myself and some business partners. I’m not sure how to address a friend as close as you. _

_ Anyway, old sport, This was not the point of my invite. Yes, invite. I would like you to come for tea and lunch today at about noon time. You can come whenever you please, though, so, do not worry too much about being on time as this is very last minute. _

_ I wanted to invite you myself but, sadly have been far too busy with work to do much of anything. Calling seemed too impersonal as we haven’t seen each other in nearly a fortnight. Or was it longer? For I cannot remember. _

_ I hope that you do show. I understand if you cannot or just prefer not to. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Jay Gatsby.  _

I stumble from bed and rush to get ready. I was very stressed suddenly. He wanted to see  _ me _ . I felt like a woman stressing over a date, putting on outfit after outfit, causing my bedroom to become a horrid mess. It was quite astounding how somebody could cause me to worry about how I look, especially when they had feelings for my cousin. I check my watch and notice that it’s barely eleven by the time I’ve finished readying myself. It felt far longer.

Now, all there is, is for me to pace and worry and play out the scene a thousand times. Most end with me kissing him until my face goes numb. Which, that shouldn’t be considered  _ ‘the scene’ _ because that is most definitely  _ not  _ what is happening.

I sit on my bed after about fifteen minutes of stress-pacing and pick up the letter again. The way he writes my name is so fancy, so lovely. He seemed to not think when he wrote, unlike when he spoke. His letter was long and rambly and sweet, beautiful and his voice was always strong and sure, careful but, never to ramble, never to struggle with finding something to say.

Jay Gatsby was calm and cool, just like his blue eyes and his bright smile.

I let myself read it again, two, three more times.

I realize it says ‘ _ about noon _ ’ and not ‘ _ at noon _ ’, which means that I can head over now. That thought lights a ball of nerves aflame in my stomach but, I stand nonetheless. I brush my hands over my clothes to smooth them. I decided upon an outfit that I don’t normally wear. A delicately pink top that would usually have a tie but I don’t bother with one, a pair of black, tighter-than-normal slacks and my normal shoes. My hair was slicked back in a wavy-brown swoosh atop my head and behind my ears. I hate slicking my hair back like this but, I need to look the best for Gatsby.

I stroll over, a saunter that makes me seem much more confident than I feel. Inside I was shaking like a baby’s rattle. I’m clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door. 

Once I do, the door flies open and my fist lands on Gatsby's chest. Thankfully I hadn't been trying to knock hard.

We both look shocked for a quick moment and he wipes his expression with a fast smile instead while I just stammer, my hand still in place on his chest. “I am so-... I was just trying-... You- I… See, I-...” 

Gatsby laughs and places a hand over mine, lowering it back to my side. “Easy there, old sport. It's alright,” He pats my shoulder. “You're early.” He notes.

“You-... Your letter… It- It said  _ about _ noon, so I though, um…”

“Yes, I know, Nick. I was just giving you a hard time.” He gives a warm smile and a gentle tap of his knuckles to my cheek.

“I knew that…” I laugh awkwardly and we both stand there for far too long.

“Come in!” He jumps as if he just realized he had to let me in, moving out of my way and I step in. Gatsby looks me over with his mouth ever-so-slightly agape. “You-... You’re wearing?...” His voice trails and he pulls at the open collar. I had the top three buttons undone and he seemed to be highly aware of that fact.

“I decided to wear this as I haven’t yet found the right place to try it out. Is it too riskay?” I ask, peering over at him.

“I-I… The ladies will… Never be able to keep their hands off of you,” A look I’ve never seen on his face passes quickly over him before he smiles again. Gatsby coughs meekly into his fist before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Alright, old sport. I will go check on the food preparations. Feel free to wander.” He tells before scurrying away.

I can’t help but to wonder if Gatsby is alright? He seems off today. He probably didn’t get much sleep is all. He was just not thinking, I guess? Normally he’s slow and composed in everything he does but right now, he’s stumbling over himself, fumbling for things to say. I’m concerned to say the least.

I stare at some kind of painting on the wall the whole time that Gatsby is gone.I honestly am not even paying the slightest bit of attention to it, my brain is running through all of the things that could be wrong with him.

“Old sport, lunch will be ready soon.” He says and seems to have nothing more to say. Well, more like, he can’t  _ think  _ if more to say.

“Gatsby.” I turn to face him and he takes a step back.

“Yes?”

“Are you well?”

“Am I well?” He returns my question without an answer.

“Yes, Gatsby. Are you well? Are you alright? You’ve been acting strangely since I’ve arrived.” I say and he seems to flinch at my accusation.

“I always act like this, Nick,” He laughs nervously. “How am I acting strange? I always act the same way. I mean, I was taken aback a bit by you coming here early but, that’s not acting  _ strange _ . That’s just me being a bit surprised is all, old sport! Wouldn’t you be taken aback by-”

“Jay, you’re rambling.” I interrupt.

“I-... I wan’t rambling! I was just making conversation.”

“You’re acting like the first time you saw Daisy again. You’re skittish and jumpy and can’t shut up,” I say and he frowns. “I’m not trying to be mean to you Gatsby, I just want to know if you’re okay. Have you been sleeping?”

“Not much but, I have been getting sleep.” He says, nodding at me.

“Well, if you want to tell me what's bothering you, I'm always here to listen.” I tell him, patting his upper arm.

“Thank you, old sport. Same to you, my door is always open.” He touches my hand as I drop it from him. He blushes and pulls away like a spooked deer.

“What is for lunch, Jay?” I ask and he then, without thinking, grabs my hand.

“Come with.” He says and pulls me along behind him.

⚣

We eat together and make small talk and tell a few stories. He tells me more about his childhood than I had heard before. He seemed to miss North Dakota a lot more than I thought originally. Someday I plan on having him go back home to see his family.

Now, we wind up leaning over that railing that overlooks the pool.

“Ah, old sport, somehow, I always seem to end up here,” He let's out this breath that sounds like he's been holding it for years. “With you.” 

It takes my breath away and I stumble a little. “We're like the friend versions of soulmates.” I laugh feebly as my breathing regulates.

“Yeah,” He hums, letting silence hit us. I can hear the waves on the Sound from distanced boats and such. “Nervous and excited are two emotions that shouldn’t mix, if you ask me. Makes it hard to concentrate.” He huffs, more to himself.

“What do you mean, Jay?” I quirk a brow at him.

“Hmm?” He turns to me. “Oh, did I speak aloud?” He seems panicked.

“You did.”

“I didn't mean to…” He frowns. “Would you like a drink?” He stands suddenly.

“Sure. Not much though.” I follow after him into the house as he makes a quick paced walk to what I assume is a distraction from his slip-up before.

“What would you like, old sport?” He says, sliding behind his bar. I follow him and he jumps. “Sit down, I can get you what you'd like.” He says quietly.

“I can get things on my own, Jay,” I smile. “You're not my servant.”

“You're my guest, Nick.” He tells me, like I don't know that.

“So?” I grab the brandy from one of his shelves.

“Not that one, that's the cheap one.” He takes it away and grabs one from a higher shelf, he pours me a glass and drops some circular ice cubes in it. He holds it out to me with a smile and I take it, our fingers brush and he drops it before I get a good grip on it, causing it to hit the floor and shatter.

“Oh!” I gasp as it scares the hell out of me, making me jump.

“I am so sorry! I-... Wasn’t paying attention.” He pours me a new one and places it on the bar this time.

His hands are trembling so hard that he can barely hold onto the bottle of bourbon as he pours himself a glass. I take the bottle away from him and grip his hands in mine. “Jay, breathe…” I say.

He pants and looks at me with big eyes, pulling away from my touch. “I’m fine.” He croaks and swallows hard.

“You’re trembling.”

“I just need a drink.” And he picks up my glass, downing it. 

“I’m not in the mood for any, anymore.” I sigh, shaking my head. Gatsby frowns as he realizes that I’m disappointed.

“I’m sorry, old sport,” He says, dipping his eyes to keep from looking at me. “Come with me.” He brushes past me and disappears into another room. I hurry after him and we wind up in his ballroom. He sits on the couch of pillows that’s placed against the side of the stairs and I join him.

“Jay, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing, Nick,” He answers. “Do you dance?”

“Can’t, I’m horrible at it.” I lean back and nearly sink into the pillows completely.

He laughs beautifully. “Be carefully, those pillows will eat you alive,” He covers his mouth to smile. “And, I bet you’re wonderful. Come.” He stands again and holds a hand towards me. I can’t keep up with this man. 

I take it and he pulls me up, making me stumble and crash into him. He catches me in his arms to steady me and my heart nearly implodes. I shy away after a moment or so and Gatsby lets me.

“Let me teach you how to dance, old sport!” Gatsby sashes to the middle of the floor. “Klipspringer! Play something beautiful, will you?”

And, so he begins, playing some sort of jazzy-swing song that I didn’t quite know. Gatsby holds a hand towards me, it brings me back to that wonderful first day, he spoke to me and held his glass outward just as fireworks exploded.

I take it and he beams, yanking me into him. “Just follow along.” He breathes in my ear just before spinning me around and pulling me back. 

I quickly realize this to be a Viennese Waltz, his steps are fast as we spin around one another and I step on him more than once. He simply winces and smiles at me as I apologize each time. He pushes me away and holds a single hand of mine, spinning me around like a ballerina before tugging me back into him. 

He’s a beautiful dancer.

He’s a beautiful  _ man  _ in general.

Gatsby blows a puff of air upward to push a strand of hair from his eyes.

He then twirls me once more, yanking me back and gracefully dips me, leaning over me as he pants lightly from the fast-paced dancing. And suddenly, something in me just bursts as I look up at his perfectly tired face and I cup his cheek in my palm, gripping his collar in my other hand, kissing him with so much force that he stumbles and his hands unclasp from behind my back. I fall and bring him down with me. We break apart just before we hit the floor.

“Nick?” His voice is but a whisper.

“Gatsby.” I say as if I’m answering a question.

“You kissed me.” He states.

“I did.” I confirm.

“Can I talk to you about that problem that I’ve been having?” He asks and rolls onto his back, off of me.

“Of course.” I huff, he completely brushed it all off.

“I’ve never been in love.” He says.

“You loved Daisy.” I comment.

“No,” He shakes his head. “I-... I was just obsessed with her. I held onto this fantasy because if I had her and I had money, everything would be perfect, I thought, at least… I believed that I loved her and made her larger-than-life to fill a void that I had within me. I kept trying to fill that hole and nothing worked.” He sighs.

“Gatsby, you could have anything you could ever want.” I furrow my brow.

“Was that kiss just for fun?” He suddenly asks.

I panic and start to nod. “That’s how the dance usually works.”

“I can’t have everything, old sport.”

“Jay, you’re not making sense.” I gasp in frustration.

“I’m making perfect sense, Nick. I cannot have  _ you _ . I cannot fill that void.” He then stand and starts towards the door.

I jump to my feet and catch up to him. “What are you talking about?” I grab his wrist to stop him.

He looks at me, a strange emotion on him that I’d never before seen. “Listen, old sport, that kiss, it was not a just fun to me. It filled that void with cement and then, you shattered it back open with your rejecting words, telling me it was all just some game to you.” His voice is hurt but his words are steady and he rips his hand away.

“Gatsby, I panicked. Do you really think I would do that for  _ fun _ ?” I ask him with my voice tight.

“Of course. Plenty a person does.” He had turned away from me by now.

“What if I did it again?” 

“What if?” Was his reply. And, so, I do. I turn him around and kiss him, letting my lips fit to his like mended pottery, he tastes of strawberries and cigars, a hint of bourbon and chocolate left behind from before. He was soft and warm and his cheeks had a light stubble as I held them.

I pull away from him before it goes any further than just a kiss. Gatsby looks me in the eye in that moment, blue and shining, more beautifully blue than the sky on a cloudless day. “You kissed me.” He says yet again.

“I did.”

“Do it again.”

And, I do.


End file.
